The Ritual of the Anti-Ritual by Jenna Petersen

Hi everyone! And a big thanks to Terra and you all for having me here today. At the moment I am writing this it is actually almost two weeks before it will appear on the blog. I just finished the first draft of an erotic historical romance that will be out next year (under my Jess Michaels name, where I write erotic historical romance for Avon’s Red line). I just got back from Detroit, Arizona and New York City (in that order and with very little time in between).

In short, you are getting me at a moment where my brain hurts. So I went through all the emails I had initially exchanged with Terra to see if she had any thoughts about what I could write about because at the moment the topics I had in mind included “Sleeping is Fun” and “Why is Delta Airlines so Evil?” These are not things that would likely interest anyone else. One of the things she had mentioned was the idea of the rituals each writer has (and more specifically, the rituals I incorporate into my writing process).

I admit, the first thing I did was dismiss that idea out of hand. You see, I’m not really a “ritual” sort of girl. But as I stood in the shower, still wracking my brain for what to write, it started to hit me. My Anti-Ritual IS my ritual. And I also started really thinking about all the rituals I DO employ either in writing or in the publishing of my books.

Some writers have to write in the morning, others need to have music on, some need the door open… or shut. Or they have to write in Starbucks every morning from 9-11 while they drink half-caf, vanilla lattes with exactly two shots of… whatever. These writers are not me. I’m not knocking their rituals, by any means, I just don’t write like that.

I don’t listen to music while I write (in fact, I can’t… which I suppose makes the act of not listening to music a part of my “ritual”). I have two cats who get mightily pissy when the door to my office is closed, so it remains open mostly so I don’t have to get up and down to deal with them. I do like to drink Vanilla Coke Zero while writing, but I also drink it while watching tv, eating dinner and pondering my navel, so that may be more in the “addiction” category than the “ritual” one.

So I poo-pooed the whole notion of my own personal rituals… until I started thinking about the way I actually WRITE a book. Not where or when or what I have to wear, but how. You see, I almost always start with character sheets. If I don’t know my characters, how can I plot? Then I do a synopsis. Then I get completely ritualistic by writing elaborate “scene sketches” that are essentially a short-hand version of the book by the time I’m done. That’s when I start writing. If I run out of scene sketches, I can’t continue until I write more. So I guess that makes it a real-life, bona fide… RITUAL!

Startled by this revelation that I did, indeed, have writing rituals that I hadn’t acknowledged to myself until now, I started thinking about the day this blog would be publishing. While you’re reading this, my book, Her Notorious Viscount, will likely be trickling onto shelves all over the country and abroad. Its official release date is tomorrow, March 31. And I most definitely have some “release day” rituals.

First, there’s the nail biting. There’s the constant checking of Amazon rankings. And of course, the traveling out to all the area bookstores to sign stock and see my book, my real book, on the shelf for the first time. Because until I see it, I still feel like this is all some delightful dream. Even though I’ve had the dream 12 times now (ten with books from Avon).

So what about you? Do you have any rituals as a reader or writer? Do you have any anti-rituals? I’ll choose a winner from the people who comment today to win a signed copy of my last release, Lessons From A Courtesan.

Oh, and if your ritual this week could include running to your local bookstore and picking up a copy of Her Notorious Viscount… well, that would be a ritual I could really get behind!

Excerpt

The corner of Stoneworth’s lips lifted, but it made more of a snarl than a smile. “And who are you?”

Jane lifted her gaze to his, startled. “Oh, yes. I apologize. My name is Jane Fenton.”

“No, not your name. Who are you?” He tilted his head. “I don’t think we’ve met before. Although you do look… familiar somehow.”

She nodded, thinking of the brief way he had looked at her earlier in the evening. Trying not to think of the shameful thrill his meaningless perusal had given her. Now he didn’t even recall her face.

“Y-You might have seen me tonight at the Glouchester ball,” she explained.

“In that gown?” he asked, tilting his head to the side as if he were examining her serviceable, woolen frock.

More heat flooded Jane’s cheeks, but this time it was angry, as well as embarrassed. “Your cravat was crooked and you haven’t shaved for two days, at least. You have no room to judge-”

She caught herself, swallowing back the rest of her heated response to his jab. When she was pressed, Jane often had the terrible habit of letting honesty get in the way of tact. Her father had sometimes joked that she got her temper the moment she inherited the ruddy highlights in her otherwise plain brown hair. Now that “red-headed temper” might have cost her dearly.

She held her breath as she awaited Nicholas Stoneworth’s reaction.

But when he moved even closer, she found he was smiling at her. Something a bit more genuine than the feral snarls and false smirks she had seen him exhibit tonight.

“It seems I have hit upon a sore spot for you,” he said with an exaggerated bow. “I do apologize.”

Congrat's To This Week's Winners

*Marie ~ Her Secret Lover by Sara Bennett

Mysterybookfan77 ~ Book by Therese Fowler

Judy ~ Book by Therese Fowler

bridget3420 ~ Book by Therese Fowler

Terri ~ Book by Therese Fowler

Margay ~ Book by Therese Fowler

Donnas ~ Book by Therese Fowler

NotNessie ~ Book by Therese Fowler

okibi-insanity ~ Book by Therese Fowler

*Lori Brighton ~ Night's Rose by Annaliese Evans

Kytaira ~ Night's Rose by Annaliese Evans


Please send your snail mail info to terraontop57 at yahoo dot com. Congrats to all our winners and I hope you enjoy your prizes!

Led Astray By A Rake by Sara Bennett

Thank you for inviting me along to YRR and letting me chat about my books, old and new. I have been writing romance for, wow, a very long time now. I’ve been an Avon historical romance author since 2000, and I started off with Medievals, then wrote a story set in the Scottish 18th century, before moving on to the Victorian era. You see I’m nothing if not versatile! Well, I’m still writing in the Victorian era but I’m all set to start a sexy new series and I’m pretty excited about it.

The series is called the Husband Hunters Club and the first book is Led Astray By A Rake. There will be five books in the series, one for each of the respectable young women who first meet at Miss Debenham’s Finishing School and become friends. They make a pact at the Finishing School Graduation Ball in 1837, that they will not allow themselves to be persuaded by their families and their circumstances into making marriages that are not to their liking. In other words they will flout all the conventions and rules of polite society and go for a man who will make them happy. Unheard of! And how will they capture their man? The girls decide that they will “hunt” him down and ensnare him with their “feminine wiles”. After all, a husband worth having is a husband worth hunting.

In the first book, Led Astray By A Rake, Olivia Monteith decides the man for her is Lord Nic Lacey, although he’s a known bad boy and rake. But she has been neighbors with Nic all her life and she has loved him forever, although he seems not to know she exists. Nic is not the marrying sort—he prefers women of the demi-monde—but Olivia is determined to persuade him, even if she has to corner him at the Demi-monde Ball. However Olivia brings out Nic’s latent protective instincts, and he finds himself saving her from gentlemen like himself. And all the while he tries desperately to resist her. And fails, of course.

I’d love to offer a copy of Led Astray By A Rake as a give-away but it isn’t available yet. However I do have a copy of my latest book, Her Secret Lover, and if you like mystery and adventure and steamy love scenes, then this one is for you. I’ll let Terra choose the winner from the comments section, so good luck! (If you don't leave an email addy with your comment you will not be entered into the giveaway!!!)

Thanks again for the invite and happy reading to everyone!

Sara





Her Secret Lover

The Aphrodite's Club Series ~ Book #2

GABRIEL + ANTOINETTE'S STORY

EXCERPT

1851
Road to Wexmoor Manor

Suddenly the coach lurched. Antoinette dropped her spectacles. Outside there was a popping noise, following by shouts from coachman and his boy. She leaned forward to grasp the window frame, just as a galloping horse drew alongside the coach. The rider wore black, everything black, including a black mask covering the upper half of his face. He kept pace with the coach, and although her poor eyesight made him appear blurry, there was something almost mesmerizing about him. And then he leaned down and stared at her through the dusty glass.

And smiled the smile of a dangerous predator spying his prey.

He was there for only a heartbeat, and then he’d spurred his horse on, but it was long enough. Antoinette felt as if his regard had burned itself into her skin. As if he had left a brand upon her.

Confused, startled, her heart thudding, she pressed herself back into the soft leather of the seat. She told herself that this was England in the reign of Queen Victoria, and highwaymen belonged to an earlier and more lawless age. Or was this isolated corner of Devon yet to catch up with the more civilized parts of the country?

Antoinette clung to the strap, bracing herself against the wildly rocking vehicle as the driver attempted to outrun the highwayman. Her straw bonnet slipped off as they tipped dangerously around a corner, and there was a loud bang as the coachman’s boy fired his blunderbuss. Antoinette squeaked, trying to see beyond the window, but it was all a blur of trees and earth and sky. And then the coach began to slow until eventually it shuddered to a halt.

Antoinette sat a moment and caught her breath, wishing she could loosen her stays beneath the tight-fitting bodice of her tan taffeta and emerald green velvet traveling dress. Her hair, a moment ago neatly pinned and parted, was hanging down, hampering her movements, and her skirts and petticoats were tossed and tangled, displaying far too much silk-stockinged leg above her lace-up boots.

What now? Antoinette asked herself. Was she to cower inside and await her fate? Practical, sensible Antoinette had never cowered in her life. Bad enough that she’d been sent into the country to a place she didn’t know by Lord Appleby, a man she detested, but to be trapped inside her coach by an anachronism? No, she wouldn’t have it.

Antoinette released the catch on the window and after a brief struggle forced it down.

Cold, moist air wafted in, and with it the pungent sting of gunpowder. Undeterred, Antoinette stuck her head out of the coach. The scene before her was chaotic. The coachman and his boy were on the ground, hands in the air, and the masked man on the horse was pointing a brace of pistols at them. “Be silent,” she heard him order in a gruff voice as the coachman began to argue.

Antoinette’s mind worked furiously. Was he after her money and her valuables? She’d brought so little with her. Most of her luggage was still in London, and her scant pieces of jewelry were locked in Lord Appleby’s safe.

The two men had turned their backs to the highwayman, and—she peered hard with her naked eyes, trying to make out the scene—he began to tie their hands. This was ridiculous. Antoinette turned away, searching for her spectacles, telling herself that if she could see him properly she would feel braver. She did not for a moment imagine she might be physically unsafe, or in any danger of being molested.

The coach door was flung open. Her thoughts froze. Antoinette gasped. He was leaning in, looking at her, and despite the lack of clarity in her vision—or perhaps because of it—he was even bigger than she’d thought. He cut out the light and filled the door space, his hands gripping the frame, a pistol dangling casually from his fingers.

What did you say to a highwayman? For some reason the proper form of address escaped her.

“Give it to me,” he said in a deep voice.

“Giver it . . . ?” she echoed in a whisper.

He tipped his head, and she knew he was taking in her disarray. She sat up straighter, brushing down her skirts and pushing back a long strand of hair. When she looked at him again he was smiling, but it wasn’t the sort of smile a gentleman would give a lady.

“I know you have it,” he said in that same deep, slightly husky voice. “The letter. Give it to me.”

Shock froze her. He knew! She only just prevented herself from reaching up and clutching the letter against her skin in its hiding place inside her bodice.

“Who-who sent you?” she demanded shakily.

“Who do you think?” he mocked.

Lord Appleby! She hadn’t been so clever after all. He knew she had in her possession the letter that could destroy him, and he’d sent his man after her to fetch it back. What better way to dispose of the evidence and her chance to use it than to stage a robbery? Oh, he was very clever.

But she couldn’t allow this to happen.

The big man was climbing into the coach, and his broad shoulders blocked out the light. There was something very menacing about him, she thought, as she blinked up at him, her mind racing as fast as her heart, searching for a way out. He slipped the pistol into his belt and drew off his gloves, slowly, while she watched. When he was finished he casually reached forward and put a hand on her knee.

His skin was hot, his bare fingers thick and blunt. It was his touch as much as the unexpectedness of it that shocked her. She jumped back, pressing herself into the farthest corner. His masked face loomed closer, and she could see the glitter of his pale eyes thought the slits. His mouth was no longer smiling now but held in a straight line, grim and determined.

“Give me the letter. Don’t make me search every inch of you, because I will. Every inch.”

Therese Fowler talks about "Reunion" her new book.

Hello! I'm so glad to have this chance to “visit” YRR (thank you, Terra!) on the day my latest novel, Reunion, goes on sale. Although it isn't, strictly speaking, a romance, I think YRR's readers will really enjoy the book.

Because I'm relatively new on the scene (Reunion is my second book), people I meet who haven't yet read my first book, Souvenir, often ask me what my books are about. It sounds like such a simple question, doesn't it? The answer, though, is a little more complex. I write stories that are about family, about choices and consequences, about mistakes and secrets and redemption, and ultimately about love in all its forms. In the year since Souvenir was first out in hardcover, I've been compared to Kristin Hannah, Sara Gruen, Jodi Picoult, Nicholas Sparks, Anna Quindlen, Barbara Delinsky—and others, but you get the picture. That there's so much variety of story and style in that list tells me that I've done what I hoped to do, which is to offer a similar-but-unique option to readers who love these authors.

I grew up reading popular fiction and romance almost exclusively. I'm sure that explains why my own stories fit snugly into that same area. To get lost in a drama or tragedy or love story meant I could leave my own life behind for a while and live vicariously through the characters I read about. As a writer, I'm doing pretty much the same thing, only instead of the experience lasting a day or so, it lasts the better part of a year—and I have to make it all up as I go! My involvement, though, and my compassion for the characters I spend my days with, is every bit as intense and fulfilling as my best reading experiences were, and are, which I hope means I'm passing that same sort of experience on to my readers.

Reunion was such a pleasure to write because it let me imagine in detail what it would be like to be a world-famous talk-show host. Celebrity life has always fascinated me—at first because my early years were pretty rocky and the glamorous life looked so enticing, and then later because I knew there was so much going on behind the facade these otherwise-very-human people build to shield themselves from the hungry media and rabid fans. The choices my main character, Blue Reynolds, makes, and the consequences of those choices, are amplified by her fame. Yet she is as vulnerable as you or I—more vulnerable, really, because she lives her life inside a kind of bubble of attention and notoriety. Everything she does, including an attempt to reconcile with an old love, including her search for the child she gave up for adoption two decades earlier, including being attracted to her old love's adult son, is potentially fuel for the media's fire.

We all face, at one time or another, thorny dilemmas that trouble and test us. The challenge of determining what's right is exceeded only by the challenge of then doing that right thing once you've managed to figure it out! It's so interesting to me to put characters into tough situations and then see what comes of it. What bonds are broken, and what bonds are strengthened? Where is happiness, and how can my characters get there?

Ultimately I'm doing my best to give you a book you're glad to own—an engrossing story that's perfect for a rainy weekend or a day at the beach or for whiling away the hours on the deck of a cruise ship (which, I admit, I would love to be doing right now!). A lot of my readers say they bring their books to read while they wait in the carpool line, and that works too. Where do you do most of your reading?

Wherever that is, it's my pleasure to offer four signed copies each of Souvenir and Reunion to the first eight readers from the US or Canada who request one in the comments section, as my way of saying thanks for giving a new author a try. And thanks again to Terra for having me here!

International readers can buy Souvenir in French, German, Polish, Dutch, Danish, Norwegian, Japanese, and Portuguese (in Brazil)--and English (UK edition).

Night's Rose by Annaliese Evans (An Interview)

Terra: Your heroine Rosemarie is so multi layered that it just blew my socks off. How difficult was it to incorporate all the facets of her heritage, history and personality so that she would be realistic?

Annaliese: Thank you so much. I'm really glad that you connected with Rose. I did my best to make her as rich as I possibly could. As a former actor, I tend to approach my characters from a kind of "methody" place. (According to wikipedia: Method acting is a technique in which actors aim to engender in themselves the thoughts and emotions of their characters in an effort to create a lifelike performance.)

So I tried to imagine what it would be like to have gone through everything Rose had been through in her life, to have so much history and experience, but also to have denied important parts of herself for so long. It put me in a fairly sad head space during some of the writing of the book--she has a horrific past she's trying to move beyond--but I hoped it would pay off. I'm glad it translated for you!

Terra: This story has two hero’s instead of one which in my mind is a wee bit rare. What made you choose to do this especially with them being such polar opposites and how difficult was it to keep their personalities from getting mixed up with one another?

Annaliese: I've written erotic romance for years and in that genre two heroes isn't as rare as you'd think. I mean...if one man is good....couldn't two be better ;)? Not to tip my hat too much, but there are some interesting developments between Rose and her two men in book two that I hope will please both Gareth and Ambrose fans alike. And as far as getting them confused, there was never any danger. As you said, they are so very different that they stood out clearly in my mind.

Terra: I love the fact that you use a real to all of us fairytale background for a foundation. Actually, I think I caught a whiff of bits of one or two others in the story, what made you choose to use this as your background for your heroine and why?

Annaliese: I've always been obsessed with fairy tales and the impact these folk stories have on cultures across the world. In opposite sides of the globe, you'll still have stories that mirror each other exactly in theme. It's wild. Fairy tales are some powerful collective unconscious juju and I love that. It's such a rich place to pull from for a story. (And yes there are hints of other fairy tales in there too! Gareth and Ambrose are also based on fairy tale characters. That is explored more in the coming books.)

Terra: I have to say I loved the entire concept of Night’s Rose with its being able to please the romance lover, fantasy lover, paranormal lover and last but not least the fairytale lover in me. Do you have any plans to carry these traits into future books and any ideas on how?

Annaliese: I have another series in the works right now that's more straight urban fantasy (with a romantic element, of course), but there are no current plans to mine the fairy tale world again just now. But if the Night's Rose books do well...well, I might have to reconsider that :).

Terra: Hmm…….Ambrose the Fae or Lord Shenley the Vampire, you really know how to make it tough to choose don’t you! If you had your choice between the two of them which do you think you might pick and why? Personally, I think I would be a glutton and take both! ;)

Annaliese: Lol! Yes ma'am. Both please! But if I had to choose, I think I'd go with Lord Shenley the Vampire. He's got the sense of humor that I think you'd need in a partner if you were really going to be together for multiple lifetimes. And he's so delightfully naughty. Love that, lol.

Terra: You’re at a book signing and there is this one man checking out your book, convince him that he needs to look beyond the cover as this is not just your average romance book but one he would absolutely love!

Annaliese: My husband, a man with nearly twenty years in the air force who likes to play rough on the hocky rink read this and enjoyed it. This isn't a book just for women, it's for men who love their wives, who love loving on their wives, and who enjoy a good sword fight.

Terra: How hard was it for you to go from romance mode into battle mode without letting the romance part interfere to the point of endangering your heroine or one of your two heroes?

Annaliese: Once again, went to the methody place. Luckily I've only been in a life or death situation a few times in my life, but it's amazing how clear your head becomes at times like that. You aren't thinking lovey dovey thoughts, you're thinking about how to survive and make sure the people you love survive too. I think you can best do that when you focus on what you need to be doing and trust that your partner knows what he needs to be doing.

Terra: We know Rose is sexually attracted to both men, loves both of them in their own way, how can she possibly choose between them without letting the guilt factor chew her up and spit her out?

Annaliese: Hmmm....I don't think I can answer this question without giving away book two spoilers. You'll just have to wait and see ;).

Terra: Where do you usually go for inspiration when trying to come up with the ideas for any particular scenes? Some authors need a particular background music, some brain storm in the shower, some need absolute quiet, what’s your trigger?

Annaliese: For "Night's Rose" I looked at a lot of paintings of "Sleeping Beauty" inspired art throughout the ages and did a lot of googling of old castles and of historically accurate town and city scenes. I really did my research on this book in a way I never have before. I'm sure I've still made some mistakes the real history buffs will spot, but it's not from a lack of pouring over old books!

Terra: What is your favorite fairytale and why?

Annaliese: Wow. That's a hard one. I find so many of them annoying because women are consistently placed in victim or villian roles. That's why I love rewriting them. I like to think that women are moving closer to equality and that the stories modern storytellers write help support that.

Thanks so much for having me over to the blog Terry!

Annaliese

For all of Anna J. Evans' erotic romance backlist, please visit http://annajevans.com
To learn more about the next book in the "Night's Rose" series, "The Prince of Frogs" (coming September 2009 from Tor/Forge romance), visit Annaliese's site at http://annalieseevans.com


Annaliese will give away two signed advanced reader copies of Night's Rose. You must tell us which is your favorite fairytale and why. Also, don't forget the email addy (no addy no entry). Check back on March 30th to see who won!





EXCERPT:

February 6th, 1750
Westinghouse Manor
Bedfordshire, England

"Comtesse de Fournier? Is that you, my lady?" The voice held not the slightest edge of fear, confirming Rose's suspicions. Sir Walter Pithwater knew little of the history of his people. Tonight, that shameful gap in his education would hasten his journey to the grave.

Rose crept slowly through the garden's maze, grateful the hedges had yet to reach their full height. Pithwater was clearly visible above the top of the shrubbery, his bald head gleaming in the moonlight, while her own figure remained concealed. She was barely five feet in her heeled slippers--but even Lord Drummand, the host of the country party and a man close to six feet, would be largely concealed within the maze. The people of the tribe were simply unusually tall, and Sir Walter was no exception.

It was one of the clues that had alerted her to the ogre's true nature, in addition to his monstrous appetite. A late night venture down to the Earl's kitchens confirmed her worst fears. The cook needed little prying to confess she worried the baronet would eat her employers out of house and home, forcing them to end their party early and disgrace themselves in front of many influential friends and members of Society.

The woman should have been more concerned about the ravenous guest eating her out of chambermaids and stable boys. Two of the household staff had gone missing in the past week. Rose doubted their bodies would never be found. Ogres were unique among supernatural predators in that they ate the entirety of their victims--bones and all.

"Comtesse?" Pithwater called again, a suggestive lilt in his tone. "Come out, come out, my little rosebud."

Rose grimaced beneath the black hood concealing her powdered curls from the light of the moon. She had been christened Rosemarie, and allowed a few to call her Rose, but had never been pleased with ridiculous pet names derived from her Christian name. Especially when they sprung from the mouth of a repulsive goat like Pithwater.

Still, she had no one but herself to blame for attracting his amorous attentions.

She had led the man to believe she was penniless and in need of a protector, lest she follow in the footsteps of other impoverished women of standing who lived their lives in the shadows of polite society as courtesans. Nothing had been said outright, all communicated in hushed intimations as such things usually were, but Pithwater had taken the bait.

He'd invited her to the garden maze tonight for what she gathered was a trial of sorts, to see if she would please him as a mistress. The reward for his pleasure would be her own cottage near Marylebone Gardens and an allowance he had named generous, but which they both knew to be hundreds of pounds short of a livable sum. Not that the allowance was of any real consequence.

Rose knew what her fate would truly be--a few months in his bed and an eternity in his stomach. Ogres could never retain a human lover for long, no matter how fetching they found them. Their appetite for flesh always outweighed their desire for carnal pleasure.

Congrat's To This Week's Winner

Mary Ricksen ~ Seventh Heaven by Cate Masters

Congrats to all our winner and I hope you enjoy your prize!

It’s All About the Love – Cate Masters

Inspiration can be a tricky thing. Sometimes it strikes at inopportune times – say, the shower. Or while driving. Or yes, in the middle of the night. (No, I don’t follow my muse out of bed. I’m too lazy.) When I’m very lucky, entire stories will practically fall out of my head, no assembly required. Those are the very best kind of stories, for the writer and hopefully for the reader.

That’s what happened with Seventh Heaven. It coalesced inside my head and all I had to do was write as quickly as I could (and revise afterward, of course!).

My oldest brother served in the Vietnam War, and one of his letters told of an incident involving a Vietnamese boy. That incident never left me, and plays a central role in Seventh Heaven, though my brother’s experience was less tragic, thankfully.

I had researched the Sixties for a novel. Though I grew up in that era, I was too young to fully appreciate its impact. When you’re just a kid and the first man walks on the moon, it seems like an everyday occurrence. I didn’t realize the extraordinariness of the Sixties until I’d grown up (if I can truly claim that ever happened).

The music of the Sixties had a huge impression on me. I was one of the youngest Beatlemaniacs, and in fact, named the hero in Seventh Heaven after Paul McCartney, who dropped his real first name of James. My story’s soundtrack includes the incomparable Jimi Hendrix, Bob Dylan, Janis Joplin and others -.the music that shaped my life and inspired me. No story from that time would be complete without it.

The setting is actually my hometown of Lambertville, NJ and New Hope, PA (if you’ve ever been there, you know it’s like one town separated by the Delaware River). The Music Circus flourished then, but sadly exists no longer. At night when I was young, I could hear bands like Chicago echoing through the woods. Now that I no longer live in the area, I miss its artsy feel.

Adding real-life events and settings and historical details adds authenticity to a story. But while I use certain elements from real life, I never base characters on actual people. There’s a T-shirt that says something like: Careful or you’ll end up in my novel. Funny T-shirt slogan, but not a good idea. If a person has an interesting trait or quirk, I sometimes apply it to a character, but never in a way that resembles the actual person. I do like to name my characters after people I love or admire, though. In the historical novel I recently finished, the character’s names are Samuel Langhorne and Livvie, named after one of my literary idols, Samuel Langhorne Clemens (also known as Mark Twain) and his wife Olivia. Livvie’s niece’s dolls are Annette and Julian – my sister and her husband. Other stories contain similar references.

But those are fun little story details. I’m a big believer in karma, and I try to only put good stuff out there, so only good will come back. (So goes the theory, anyway.) It’s all about the love.

Today, to celebrate its release from The Wild Rose Press, I’m giving away a PDF copy of Seventh Heaven to a random commenter who can tell me which musician makes a cameo appearance in my story. The answer is here.

http://catemasters.blogspot.com/2008/10/value-of-authenticating-details.html
Thanks for stopping by! I hope you enjoy Seventh Heaven. I’d love to hear back from you.

The author of four novels, Cate Masters’ short stories and flash fiction have appeared in various web zines and press sites. Visit her online at http://catemasters.ning.com/ or http://www.catemasters.blogspot.com or friend her on Facebook. http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=1307236931&ref=name

Happy St. Patrick's Day Everyone

Congrat's To This Week's Winner

The Pink Spyder ~ Prize Package by Jane Porter

Please send your snail mail info to terraontop57 at yahoo dot com. Congrats to all our winners and I hope you enjoy your prizes!

Jane Porter talks about "Perfectionism"

I write the majority of my books sitting in coffee houses, usually at one of the Starbucks or Tully’s close to my house in Bellevue, Washington. Bellevue’s fairly swanky as cities in the Pacific Northwest go. Great schools, glitzy malls, elegant libraries. It’s a wonderful place to raise kids and a great place to be a woman, particularly if you’re one of the women that don’t have to work but can afford to be home with your kids.

I’m a single mom, so I work. But even when I was married, I worked, wrote, because I need something to do with myself or I end up self-destructive.

But sitting in coffee houses and watching the local moms come and go isn’t always great for self-esteem.

These moms look fabulous. And they’re busy, arms laden with binders and leather totes and lap tops for their meetings with other moms. I listen as they talk. They’re PTA presidents and Auction Chairs and School Board Members. They have full plates and full lives and they look sensational, too.

I envy them and suck in a breath, feel the roll of fat against the waistband of my jeans. The roll is getting bigger not smaller. I’m not working out as much as I used to. No longer a trim 6 or a physically fit 8, my weight creeps up and my confidence drops again. How can my body define me so much? How can the size of my jeans make me feel so vulnerable? I’m smart. I’m successful.

Aren’t I?

Mrs. Perfect, my May ’098 release, was the follow up to Odd Mom Out, and both novels are a direct result of this life of mine, with these doubts and questions and insecurities. My books are a product of me wondering if other women have the same insecurities. I wonder if other women have more confidence, self-acceptance, and while I try hard to be good to myself, try to be kind but somehow, its easier to be kinder to other people. Easier to be kinder to strangers than myself.

You know those little thoughts we think:
Those women look fabulous for their age.
Those women look sharp and stylish.
Those women.
Whereas me. Well, I could be better. I should be better. But to be better, I’d have to be nearly perfect.

Ah. Perfectionism. A fairly bitter pill, isn’t it? It’s pretty much impossible to be perfect but for reasons I don’t understand, it’s what I think I should be.

And I’m not alone. I look around me, open a magazine, turn on the tv and there is the quest for perfection in every store, every ad, every photograph. Men don’t have to be perfect. So why do we?

Indeed.

Why do we?

Which leads me to one of the biggest epiphany moments of my life and it’s that we don’t. We don’t have to be perfect. We don’t have to know everything. We don’t have to get everything right, either.

It’s time we stopped being so hard on ourselves, and hard on other women. It’s time to realize that we can fail, and fall, and be flawed, and still be loved.

Once I stopped expecting too much from myself, I discovered that I kind of like myself, and I realized I could accept and like everyone else, too.

Now I’m a bit of an evangelist. I preach more love, more laughter, more happiness in my books. I really want women to like themselves, to enjoy their lives, to savor their gifts, to forgive their weaknesses. We don’t have to be perfect. We just have to live fulfilling, interesting lives.

Fulfilling, interesting and joyful lives.

My next novel, Easy On The Eyes, will be released July 2009 and you can be sure that these themes so close to my heart will be found in that book, too!

Jane will be giving away a fun tote bag with signed copies of Odd Mom Out and Mrs. Perfect and lots of her JP reader goodies to one lucky winner who leaves a comment or question about her post and an email addy (no email addy, no entry)!!

Milestones by Sharon Lathan

On the day my guest blog posts, my daughter will turn 21. No doubt at all that this is a huge milestone in her life; one that she will remember with fondness always. We plan to take her to San Francisco for the weekend – so if I am not around to answer questions or respond until the 10th, please forgive me. But these momentous events cannot be ignored, even for the launch of her mom’s debut novel!

To be completely honest, it wasn’t until the second week of January as I began plotting my work/guest blog/interview/life schedule on my calendar that it suddenly dawned on me that my precious baby girl would not only be having a birthday smack in the midst of my own milestone moment, but that it would be her 21st. Wow! What kind of a mother am I? The kind, thankfully, that has a wonderfully supportive and understanding family. Without them I would not be celebrating this milestone at all; which, of course, is all the more reason why I need to make sure my daughter is the center of attention for hers.

It was as I was considering all of this that my mind turned to contemplating the milestone moments in our lives. Most of us immediately point to the obvious ones: graduation, getting married, birthing our babies, special birthdays, and so on. But what about those moments, those occurrences that become momentous only in retrospect? Can they still be a ‘milestone’ in the strictest definition of the word?

I am thinking of the day when I was begged to temporarily transfer from my position in pediatrics to fill an urgent need in the NICU. I did it reluctantly, but within a month I had discovered my niche as an RN. Now, 25 years later, I know that was a milestone decision. Or there was the day I stood freezing on the Santa Cruz boardwalk being introduced to a man I barely glanced at because I was too busy shivering. Eventually he would become the love of my life, and my husband of 23 years. Surely a milestone.

Or perhaps a turning point?

Whatever the chosen term, each of us could list dozens upon dozens of such instances in our lives where a unique change occurred in our lives. We may not be able to recall the precise date, but later we remember the circumstances, even if it seemed unremarkable at the time.

Such was the case for me on the day after Thanksgiving in 2005. I walked into a movie theater with my daughter and best friend. We wanted to see a girlie movie and Joe Wright’s adaptation of “Pride & Prejudice” was playing. I remember that my friend was not so enthused since she is a major fan of the BBC version, but I had no prior exposure so was excited to see a sweet love story that also happened to be a period drama. I loved it! I left that theater extremely satisfied, all warm and fuzzy, dying to consume anything Austen I could get my hands on, and aching to see it again - but without the slightest inkling that my life was soon to take a radical turn.

Nevertheless, a milestone of sorts had occurred.

The details of how I went from rapturous movie viewer to rapturous published author can be read at my website, but the simple fact is that a whole new pathway opened up for me on that day. Through that movie and that love story I discovered a buried gift: I could write! I became consumed, obsessed, relentless! It was beautiful, thrilling, astonishing! I burned to tell the story of the Darcys. I yearned to relate my vision of them growing in love, of their experiences as they traveled through life, of their day-to-day activities and milestone events.

Perhaps my own journey through the ordinary and extraordinary occurrences of life was an added inspiration. This thing we call ‘life’ is one marvelous ride; filled with decisions and dramas and conversations that may change our existence. Or maybe not. Exciting or mundane, life can be fun, and it is that fact I attempt to celebrate in my sequel.

“Mr. and Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy: Two Shall Become One” is my debut novel, the first in The Darcy Saga series. For Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth the milestone moment of exchanging vows has taken place. Beginning hours after the ceremony, my story begins as they embark on their honeymoon and covers the initial five months of marriage. It is a tale of incredible love between two people. It is a tale of the happenings, one after another, large and small, that constitute how two souls bond together as one.

As I write about the Darcys and their friends I am continually amazed by how incredibly diverse and surprising life is. I am struck anew by the complexities and transitions. And I compare that to my own life.

Fundamentally I am the same. I still do the dishes, clean the cat box, grocery shop, nag at my kids to pick up their clothes, work the night-shift at the hospital, etc. I am content with those aspects of my life. I did not dream of something BIG coming my way. Indeed, it totally caught me off guard, but…Oh! It is wonderful! How amazing it is to pass time in an activity one loves!

And now I am writing a guest blog essay as my gorgeously bound novel sits on Target book shelves across the US. By the time Yankee Romance posts it my name will be all over the place as my words are (hopefully) being read by hundreds of people. Can anyone doubt this is a milestone? I don’t. And I am very happy to share the spotlight with my daughter, remembering that her birth was one of the most momentous events in my life.

Thank you Terra for allowing me to guest on your fabulous website. I am having such a terrific time talking about my novel! I invite everyone to pop over to my website at: www.darcysaga.net to read all about my journey and the series that is a result. I welcome emails and feedback, especially the positive kind!

Congrat's To This Week's Winners

MarthaE ~ either a copy of Pandora's Box or a copy of The Druid Made Me Do It by Natale Stenzel

Maureen ~ Both Books by Tracy Garrett

Please send your snail mail info to terraontop57 at yahoo dot com. Congrats to all our winners and I hope you enjoy your prizes!

HUNTED by P.C. and Kristin Cast..Book Five of the House of Night Series!

What if the hottest guy in the world was hiding a nameless evil, and all he wanted was you? At the start of this heart-pounding new installment of the bestselling House of Night series, Zoey’s friends have her back again and Stevie Rae and the red fledglings aren’t Neferet’s secrets any longer. But an unexpected danger has emerged. Neferet guards her powerful new consort, Kalona, and no one at the House of Night seems to understand the threat he poses. Kalona looks gorgeous, and he has the House of Night under his spell. A past life holds the key to breaking his rapidly spreading influence, but what if this past life shows Zoey secrets she doesn’t want to hear and truths she can’t face?

Special bonus: The book features a full-color poster of Zoey inside the cover!

To read Chapter One and listen to an audio of Chapter Two click on this link, http://www.houseofnightseries.com/pages/hunted.html .

A special Thank You to St. Martin's press and Zeitghost Media for inviting us to be able to share this fantastic series by a special Mother - Daughter author team, P. C. Cast and Kristin Cast. This is a Young Adult series that is a must read for young and old. We know because we personally love it. Enjoy!!

Huggs,
Terra and Lemonitsa

TOUCHED BY LOVE by Tracy Garrett

Have you been touched by love? Since you’re romance readers, I assume the answer is yes, whether through the books you read or in your personal life. I’m one of those luckiest of women, the kind I write about–I met the love of my life, my soul mate, and married him nearly 28 years ago.

I guess that’s why I love romance so much. While I readily admit I’ve always been a hopeless romantic, there’s something about having HIM in my life that fuels my need to share happily-ever-after through my stories.

Touched by Love, my latest western from Kensington/Zebra, is the story of a man who desperately needs that kind of love—though he doesn’t think he deserves it. Jaret Walker is a gun-for-hire, a loner, a man with nothing to live for besides seeing another sunrise. But he’s a good man, with a big heart and a streak of honor as wide as Texas. If any character deserves a HEA, Jaret does.

I enjoy writing the kind of hero that needs to be loved, even as he denies needing anything. It’s a joy to be able to walk in his boots all the way to the woman who wedges her way into his life and into his heart.

Leave a question for Tracy about her prologue posted below along with your email addy (no addy, no entry) and have a chance to win an autographed copy of both Touched by Love and Touch of Texas, Tracy's debut release.

http://www.tracygarrett.com/
Touched by Love by Tracy Garrett
“Garrett loves the West... Her novel reflects her passion.”
-- Romantic Times BookReviews
ISBN 978-1420101010



Excerpt from TOUCHED BY LOVE

PROLOGUE

Sierra Madre Mountains, Mexico - February, 1847



Jaret Walker crested the last hill and hauled back on the reins. His exhausted horse stood still beneath him, sides heaving as it tried to breathe in the thin mountain air. Eighteen days on the trail dodging bandits and the Mexican Army had worn the mare pretty thin. Jaret wasn’t in much better shape. He shoved cold hands into his coat pockets and ducked his chin beneath his collar, out of the icy wind. Below him, on the dry plain, spread Perote Prison, a place of death and ghosts.

The once white stone of the Spanish Castle was gray and pitted by the centuries of sand the wind flung at its walls. In the early morning light, the place looked deserted, but Jaret knew better. Within those walls, hopeless men clung to life, if you could call it that. Many of the unfortunate prisoners had been captured in the various raids and skirmishes in the contested lands of Texas. And few would ever know freedom again.

For the thousandth time since he left Texas behind, he questioned his sanity. What he was about to do could land him in that hell-hole for good. But he had no choice. He’d been lied to, duped, and an innocent man was down there, paying the price.

Tugging his hat lower on his brow, Jaret lifted the reins and covered the last mile to the gate of the prison. A deep moat, filled with rocks and bones, guarded the high wall. A single bridge spanned the grisly pond. At its end, two stone soldiers kept permanent watch, the macabre statues portraying the remains of the men after they were hacked to death for falling asleep on duty. He reassured his mare when she sidestepped, picking up on his uneasiness. “It’s okay, girl. I’m just praying I don’t end up displayed next to them.”

He guided his horse across the bridge and up to the imposing gate. Two soldiers came through the small door in the entry, weapons pointing at Jaret. He eased back in the saddle to stop the horse and held his hands out to the sides where they could be seen.

“Me llamo Jaret Walker,” he identified himself in halting Spanish. “Tengo una carta para el General.” He pulled a sealed envelope from his jacket, keeping his movements slow and easy. On the front of the letter was the name of the general in command of the prison. “It’s important. Importante,” he added, hoping to move them along a little faster. He wanted to put this place well behind him before the sun went down.

Jaret handed the letter over to one of the soldiers. Then both disappeared back inside the prison gate. He waited.

Ten minutes passed. Twenty. A trickle of sweat worked its way down Jaret’s neck, in spite of the cold wind that never seemed to stop. If the General figured out the letter was a forgery, he was as good as dead. Finally the door reopened.

“Inside,” the soldier ordered, leveling his rifle at Jaret’s middle. A torrent of Spanish was flung at him as one side of the massive gate opened with a scream of rusty hinges.

Jaret’s command of the language might be limited, but he understood enough to know the General was waiting. The question was did the soldier mean he’d been granted an interview, or would he be trapped inside for good? Jaret dismounted, stomped some feeling back into his feet and led his horse through the opening. He couldn’t stop the shiver that skated down his spine when the gate boomed shut behind him.

He breathed a little easier when the General met him in the promenade. Their business went quickly, and with the exchange of gold, a prisoner was delivered into Jaret’s keeping.

Nick Bennett looked a lot thinner than when Jaret left him here three months ago. This place could do that to a man. Suck him down to dry bones in no time. Jaret had no intention of the giving the General time to change his mind. Ignoring Bennett’s glare, Jaret led him out the gate to freedom. “Don’t say a word,” he hissed under his breath. “Just follow me.”

They mounted and rode double as soon as they cleared the bridge. The mare seemed to want to get away from the prison, too, and kept to a steady trot over the first hill and out of sight. Jaret guided her back to where he’d concealed another horse before he slowed the pace.

“Why?” The single word held all of Nick Bennett’s hatred and fury and confusion.

“You didn’t belong in there.”

Bennett accepted Jaret’s help off the horse, balancing against the saddle until his knees would hold him. “I told you that before you ever brought me here.”

“True, but I expected you to say that. I’d been told different.” Jaret drew a knife from his boot and sliced through the ropes binding Nick’s wrists.

“What changed your mind?”

“I found out someone wants you dead and I was the way they chose to do it. I don’t hire out for murder.” He handed Nick a dark hat to cover his blond hair and dug out the extra coat he’d brought along. It was too large, especially with the weight Bennett had lost, but the dark wool would keep him warm.

The two men mounted up and took to the trail in silence. Jaret wanted as many miles as possible between them and the General. They pushed on into the evening, until darkness forced them to make camp. They ate jerky and hard tack, and washed it down with icy water from the stream they’d crossed an hour before. Jaret refused to light a fire, even when Nick started to shiver.

“It’s damn cold.”

“I know. The bandits in this stretch of hell love to work at night.” Jaret held out a revolver. “Here. I’m going to scout the area, make sure we’re alone. I’ll warn you before I come back in.”

Nick checked the load and tested the weight of the gun. “How do you know I won’t shoot you?”

“I don’t.” Jaret slipped into the night, making three circuits of the camp, varying his route and speed each time. Nothing moved but him and the moon overhead. By the time he got back, Bennett was sound asleep.

The days ran together, each one longer than the last. While Bennett slept and regained a little of his strength, Jaret was wearing thin. He hadn’t slept more than a few minutes at a time, trying to remain alert for the thieves that plagued travelers on this route. It took nearly four weeks, but finally they were so close to the Rio Grande they could smell it.

The morning sun helped raise their spirits. “Will we make the river today?” Bennett groomed his horse and spread the saddle blanket over its gleaming hide.

“Easily. It’s just out of sight, an hour at the most.” Jaret lifted Nick’s saddle to save him the effort.

“I never thanked you for bringing Micah with you.” Nick patted his horse’s neck and tickled its ear, distracting it before tightening the cinch around the reluctant animal. “Stand still, you stubborn mule,” he scolded when the horse sidestepped to avoid the bit.

“You needed a mount. Couldn’t see the sense in leaving him behind and having him disappear before we got back.”

Bennett nodded. “I appreciate it. This horse is a particular favorite of mine. I’d have hated to lose him.”

They fell silent, working side by side in a pattern they’d developed over the long weeks on the trail. Much to their mutual surprise, the two had also developed a friendship of sorts. It probably wouldn’t be a lasting one, but Jaret never expected it to be. No one in his life ever cared enough to stick around.

The closer they got to the river, the faster they rode. “Come on, Walker, pick it up.” Nick laughed as he urged his horse to a gallop. “Last one to get wet buys the whiskey.”

They thundered over the slight rise in the land and straight into a trap. Gunfire erupted from both sides, separating them. Bennett dove from his horse and rolled under some scrub bushes. Jaret managed to find a pile of rocks that offered a little better protection.

From his vantage, he picked off two of the bandits. Bennett took out a third when he presented his back while changing positions to get a better angle to shoot Jaret.

Everything fell silent. “Bennett?”

“Still in one piece. You?”

“Yeah.” Jaret shifted, trying to draw any remaining fire. When nothing moved, he worked his way to where Nick lay sprawled in the dirt, careful to stay out of sight.

“Is it over?

Jaret studied the land, checking out every shadow. “I’m not sure. Stay put.”

He balanced on the balls of his feet, ready to make a run for another spot of cover.

“Look out!”

Nick dove at Jaret, hitting him in the back. Jaret felt the bullet slam into Nick as they fell. Jaret rolled away and came up firing. The bandit was dead before he hit the ground. In the silence, Jaret heard the sound of a single horse, galloping away toward Texas. At least one man had escaped to carry the tale.

“Bennett?” Blood was everywhere, running from the gaping wound in Nick’s shoulder.

“How bad?” Bennett was conscious, but just barely.

Jaret did what he could to stop the flow of blood. “Pretty bad. You need doctoring that I can’t do. Let me make sure we’re done here, then I’ll get you across the river.”

“Don’t take too long.” Bennett took a shallow breath and closed his eyes.

Cursing at the delay, Jaret searched out every bandit to be certain they were dead. He removed guns, ammunition, anything that might be used to shoot them in the backs. As he rolled over the last attacker, a chill ran down his spine. He recognized the man. He’d been in the room when Jaret was hired to kidnap Bennett and deliver him to that hell-on-earth. Jaret glanced around, studying the setup.

This trap had been laid for him, to eliminate the only witness to Bennett’s disappearance. Jaret blistered the air with curses. He’d been set up and Bennett paid the price.

Again.

Between a Rock and a Heart Place by Natale Stenzel

I guess I could have titled this post 'when secondary characters try to take over the book,' but then we'd just circle right back around to the author caught in the middle, so my current title's appropriate anyway -- especially since it was the book by that same title that addressed that particular situation. So. Secondary characters. We can't have a book without them, can't make them flat and uninteresting, but must keep them in their place. Well, that doesn't sound too hard, does it?

Er. Hmm. I guess you've never met High Druid Phil or Tremayne, then. Phil's fascinating and endearing and entertaining -- but a bit more understanding and easygoing than Tremayne. I also think he was entertained by the notion of staying in the background, so he never insisted on having his own story.

Tremayne, on the other hand . . . Well, we first met him in The Druid Made Me Do It (Dorchester Love Spell, August 2008) as kind of a dark, truly powerful enigma that was never explained to our satisfaction. In fact, we weren't even sure if he was a good guy or a bad guy and it's quite possible that, like everyone else, he's a mix of both. Perfect, quite frankly, is boring. You see, he's the guy who played jailer to my puca* Riordan in Pandora's Box (Dorchester Love Spell, February 2008), although we never actually met him face to face. Then he powered his way right into the story of The Druid Made Me Do It, casually demonstrating the extent of his magic during one shocker of a scene. Maybe two . . . I'll never tell. But he became so much larger than life, that enigma taking hold of my mind and my heart. He required another story. So now he has it in my current release, Between a Rock and a Heart Place (Dorchester Love Spell, March 2009). And he shares that story with my affable High Druid Phil.

You really, really should meet Phil. He's both a successful business man and a modern Druid, with a sense of humor and an unshakably Pollyanna outlook on the world. He savors the fun in life where he finds it, even though he's seen some pretty nasty things along the way. Contrary to the traditional long-bearded, furred and white-robed Druid, Phil wears trendy purple specs, blow-dries his hair, plays golf, even shows signs of being a true ladies' man. He tells the future in his own unorthodox way and cheerfully sends text messages to the faery king when he's in a diplomatic bind (faery business vs. Druid or human business). Phil baffles Tremayne with his quirky mannerisms and speech and the shocking truths he casually drops when Tremayne least expects it.

Early on, my heroine Daphne isn't too fond of High Druid Phil, since he's the guy who refuses to let her escape to the new life she's been planning for so long. It's his duty, after all, to protect the magical realm from discovery and the human realm from harm -- and Daphne, with her warring puca* and Druid powers threatening her very sanity, poses a real risk to both realms. Oh, but sweetheart that he is, Phil's been rooting all along for Tremayne and Daphne -- and their seemingly impossible love. Now that this series has been completed, I'm going to miss all my characters but admit to a soft spot for my buddy Phil. I might have to revisit him at some point.

So tell me. What are some of your more memorable secondary characters? In movies, books, cartoons, fairytales . . . they're everywhere, you know. And, hey, I'm offering a free book to one commenter on this blog. Winner gets to choose either a copy of Pandora's Box or a copy of The Druid Made Me Do It. These are the two prequels to my current release, Between a Rock and a Heart Place.
(Thank you so much for having me today, Terra!)

*A puca is a shape-shifting, half-human and half-faery trickster from Celtic and British mythology. I admit I took wild and dangerous liberties with the existing traditions and added twists of my own where I couldn't find the necessary details.

The Cat Star Chronicles: Rogue by Cheryl Brooks

Hi Terra!
Thanks so much for allowing me to guest blog again on Yankee Romance Reviewers! We had a blast with Warrior when I visited before, and now I’m promoting my newest release, The Cat Star Chronicles: Rogue.

When writing a series, coming up with new ideas isn’t always easy. I had already begun thinking about the third book in the series when my editor said: “They can still be slaves, but try not to have the guys so beat up this time—and how about two of them—maybe have them be brothers?”

So I that’s what I did. Tychar and Trag are two Zetithian brothers who have been the pampered pets of a Darconian queen for the past twenty years. Darconia is a desert planet with inhabitants that not only look like down-sized versions of the Tyrannosaurus Rex, but have a similar temperament. The two Zetithians are the only humanoids on the entire planet, and though they haven’t been mistreated, when it comes to finding a mate, without the scent of feminine desire, it’s no go. Needless to say, the dinosaurs just don’t smell right.

Enter Kyra Aramis; a young and slightly timid Terran pianist who has been hired to teach piano to Queen Scalia’s daughter, Zealon. Scalia introduces her ‘cats’ to Kyra, and though sparks of attraction fly between the piano teacher and Tychar, Trag is aroused by her scent as well. Scalia, whom Kyra suspects of having an ulterior motive for bringing her to Darconia, assigns Tychar to be Kyra’s personal attendant during her stay.

Two brothers and one woman. Imagine her dilemma when Kyra falls in love with the charming Tychar, but Trag, who is every bit as irresistible as his brother, wants her, too. If she refuses him, Trag may never have sex again as long as he lives, but if she gives in, she may jeopardize her relationship with the one she loves. With free men, this choice would be difficult enough, but the men are slaves, which makes their situation unique. What’s a girl to do?

In addition to having two sexy Zetithians for my heroine to choose from, I had great fun with the secondary characters and the setting. On a desert planet with little in the way of modern technology, the Darconians have a different type of stone to fill almost every need from time-keeping to dusting the palace. I also incorporated my love of music and humor—just imagine a T-Rex playing the piano and you’ll get some idea of what I mean by that. Add political upheaval, a group of bizarre alien slaves, some super-hot romance, gun runners, a few old friends, and a tense desert conflict, and you’ve got The Cat Star Chronicles: Rogue.

By the end of the story, the meek little piano teacher isn’t meek anymore! *evil grin* Get ready to blow that fuse, Terra!